


Easy on the Eyes

by kirallea



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Celebrations, F/F, Gyms, Healing, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sharing a Bed, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25881901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirallea/pseuds/kirallea
Summary: For a long time, it hurt to look at Adora, the mere sight of her like a dagger to the heart, painful and sharp. But she’s watching her now, and there’s a flutter of warmth in her chest, a memory of something she thought she had lost.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 122





	Easy on the Eyes

The party is overwhelming in every sense of the word. The high-ceilinged ballroom is filled with people and too-loud chatter, and everything is a blur of activity. Catra’s head is spinning, the overhead lights too bright, too harsh for her, and a sweet, flowery scent tickles her nose, daring her to sneeze. She presses her tongue against the roof of her mouth, holds her breath until the urge passes. The only thing worse than attending a fancy party is attracting unwanted attention, especially from people she doesn’t even know. 

There is nothing wrong with having a party, per se. It’s a much-needed distraction from the horrors they’ve been through, an opportunity to celebrate the end of the war and the beginning of a new time. These people deserve it -- they all do, even her.

(She’s still struggling with the idea that she _deserves_ something.)

It could be worse, Catra thinks. She is holding Adora’s hand, allowing herself to be guided into the room, through the endless sea of people. Adora looks pretty in her red dress, and her hand is soft and warm, an anchor amidst the chaos.

Catra has no idea where they’re going. Someone seems to be tugging at Adora’s arm, pulling her towards the center of the room, and Adora is trying to pull Catra with her, but there are people in the way, sturdy bodies and sharp elbows, the broad expanse of someone’s back. Adora’s fingers tighten around Catra’s, but it’s already too late; they’re being pulled apart, the press of the crowd too great. Catra bites the inside of her cheek, squeezes her eyes shut for a short moment, and lets her hand slip from Adora’s.

Adora spins around, standing up on her tiptoes to see over a woman’s shoulder. She gives Catra a helpless look, eyebrows raised high.

 _It’s okay,_ Catra finds herself mouthing. It’s easier this way; she’d have to shout to make herself heard, anyway. _I’ll stay here._

 _I’ll be right back,_ Adora mouths back at her, and then she’s gone, swallowed by the crowd.

The moment she loses sight of Adora, it gets harder to breathe. She has lost her anchor and is now floating without a destination, drowning in the sea of people taller than her. A wave of panic sweeps over her, and she turns around, squeezes her way out of the crowd. Her heart is pounding in her chest, out of control, and she actually gasps for air, as if she’s been underwater all this time.

(Maybe she has, in a metaphorical sense. Several weeks later, and she still feels terribly out of place here in Bright Moon, even though people have been nothing but welcoming to her.) 

A series of deep, mindful breaths, and the anxiety gives way to sheepish resignation. Catra lurks around the edges of the room, rubbing her arm, and makes repeated trips to the buffet table. It’s a sight to behold; she has never seen so much food in one place before, not in Bright Moon and certainly not in the Horde. There’s a seemingly endless assortment of intricately decorated pies and cakes, a wide variety of freshly baked cupcakes and cookies, and fruits she doesn’t even know the name of. She keeps refilling her plate, picking a little bit of everything, and devouring the food in a matter of minutes, her back turned to the crowd. It’s so delicious she almost, almost forgets to feel embarrassed. 

“Catra!” a voice behind her says, almost making her jump out of her skin. A pair of hands spin her around, and she comes face-to-face with a red-cheeked, wide-eyed Glimmer.

“Your Majesty,” Catra says. “What gives me the pleasure?”

“Do me a favor and just talk to me for a while, okay?” Glimmer says. 

“I am talking to you,” Catra says. Then, a little more quietly: “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah -- I mean, I don’t know.” Glimmer glances over her shoulder and leans closer, lowers her voice. “It’s just that everyone wants to have a word with me tonight, and it’s just an endless stream of questions like, _what are your plans to rebuild the kingdom now that the war is over,_ or _how are you doing after everything that happened?_ I know they mean well, but these are not the conversations I want to be having right now.”

Catra averts her eyes. “And here I thought I was having a bad time.” She’s mumbling this, speaking more to herself than to Glimmer.

“You’re not enjoying the party?” Glimmer picks up a grape from Catra’s plate and pops it into her mouth. Catra hisses at her, but Glimmer is unflappable, glancing around and chewing nonchalantly. “Where’s Adora?”

“See, that’s the problem,” Catra says. “I lost her a while ago.”

“The same thing happened to me and Bow,” Glimmer says. “A little too many people in here, right? I guess we’ll bump into each other eventually.” 

“Um. Right.”

Glimmer leans back against the wall, folds her arms on her chest, and heaves a sigh. Catra hesitates before mirroring her move, eyes fixed on something in the distance. The silence between them stretches on, awkward but not unbearable. Not knowing what else to do, Catra rubs the back of her neck with her hand, looks down at her plate. It’s empty now, except for a few crumbs and a couple of grapes. 

“You like the food?” Glimmer asks.

“It’s fine,” Catra says. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. 

Glimmer gives her a look.

“Look, the food’s amazing, okay?” Catra says, voice rising a little, exasperation spilling from her lips. “That was my fourth plate, and I’m thinking of going back for a fifth one. I feel like -- like I’ve lost the ability to control myself.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Glimmer says. She chuckles, not unkindly. “Adora used to do the same thing. Eating like she had never seen food before, I mean. She just couldn’t seem to stop, and I don’t think she even wanted to.”

“How am I not surprised?” Catra says, murmuring this. Her lips are tugging up at the corners, her annoyance already fading. 

“Well,” Glimmer says. “The Horde is not exactly known for their excessive feasts.”

Catra looks away. “Did Adora struggle when she first came here?”

“She definitely did,” Glimmer says. “Everything was a novelty to her, even all the little things I had always taken for granted. I didn’t think too much about it at the time, because there were other things to worry about, but now I wish I could have done more to help her. I mean, it’s obvious you have lived a very sheltered life.”

Catra trails a finger along the edge of the plate, careful not to scratch the porcelain with her claw. Glimmer tucks her hands behind her back, looks down at her feet.

“Are you settling in okay?” she asks, carefully. 

Catra swallows. “Yeah. Having Adora here helps a lot. I--”

She sees it out of the corner of her eye at first, the sideways swing of a ponytail, and her body reacts in an instant, the muscles in her shoulders tensing into hard knots, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. Her claws are out, and her heart pounds in her chest, but then her mind catches up with her, and she remembers, remembers that they’re on the same side, that Prime has been destroyed, that the war is over, and-- 

It’s over in the blink of an eye, tension leaving her body as quickly as it had come. Catra lets out an exhale and pushes back her shoulders, makes a conscious effort to relax. She hopes Glimmer didn’t notice anything, even though this seems unlikely; she is far more perceptive than Catra originally gave her credit for, and certainly not stupid. At least she has the decency not to say anything, something Catra is secretly grateful for.

It’s a thing that keeps happening even now, weeks after the end of the war. The sight of Adora still triggers something in her, something unnerving and unpleasant, a raw emotion that shakes her to the core. It’s almost like a part of her still hasn’t fully grasped the fact that they are no longer enemies.

“Here you are,” Adora says, appearing in front of her. “I was looking for you all over the place.” She glances over at Glimmer, and the corners of her mouth twitch, her smile melting into a smirk. “You too, actually. I just bumped into Castaspella, and--”

“Adora!” Glimmer says, grabbing her by the arms. “Please don’t tell me it’s time for my speech yet.”

“You’re going to give a speech?” Catra asks.

“Of course I’m going to have to give a speech,” Glimmer says, sighing. “I’m the Queen, remember?”

“Anyway,” Adora says. “She said you’d have to be there in twenty minutes. That was maybe, what, ten or fifteen minutes ago?”

Glimmer presses her hands to her face and groans. 

“Feeling nervous?” Adora asks.

“Yeah, a little,” Glimmer says. “Okay, okay, I’m going. See you later.”

“Good luck!” Adora yells after her. “Break a leg!”

Glimmer spins around, walking backwards, cape fluttering around her ankles. “Stay put! I’ll pretend I’m only talking to you two. Don’t make me laugh!”

“Sorry, didn’t hear you!” Adora says, cheerful as ever. “We’ll make silly faces at you!”

“You two are the worst!” Glimmer says, turning around, and then she disappears in the crowd, too. 

Adora looks back at Catra, and her smile melts into something softer, more private.

“So, hey,” she says, voice lower now.

“Hey,” Catra says, and then it’s just the two of them again, smiling at each other, engrossed in their own little world. It’s a lovely bubble to be in, like a secret force field, keeping unwanted strangers away. Even the background noise seems to fade away, unimportant and inoffensive. 

“Sorry for leaving you alone like that,” Adora says. “I was trying to find you, but people kept wanting to talk to me, and--”

“Don’t worry about it,” Catra says. “Have you had any food yet?”

“Not really. I couldn’t stop looking at people’s plates, though. Everything smells amazing.”

“Let’s go, then,” Catra says. “There’s still time before Sparkles’ speech.” 

Adora takes her hand, their fingers intertwining with ease, but this time, it’s Catra who takes the lead.

\--

Catra jolts awake when something smacks her in the face. Her mind kicks into action before she has even opened her eyes, loud like a blaring siren, thoughts tumbling from one disturbing scenario to another. She holds up her hands to shield her face, and by the time the second blow comes, she has already figured out what’s happening.

“Hey!” she says, voice raw with sleep, and catches Adora’s wrist before she manages to land another punch. “Stop hitting me!”

Adora stills at once, tension leaving her body, hand going limp in Catra’s grasp. Careful not to wake her, Catra rolls onto her side, brings their hands down to the mattress, and covers Adora’s with her own. This used to work before, back when they were kids, and she wonders if it still does, after all these years. It’s an immediate success; Adora lies perfectly still, curled on her side, her breathing deep and steady. 

Catra rubs her cheek against the pillow, lets her eyelids slip halfway down, and heaves a sigh. Adora’s forehead is perfectly smooth now, her lips pursed together in a thin line. Catra takes in all the little details: the flutter of her eyelashes, the curve of her cheekbone, the delicate arch of her upper lip. She memorized all those lines a long time ago, tracing them over and over with her eyes, wanting to touch them with the tip of her finger. Sometimes, she would reach out a tentative hand before thinking better of it and pulling back again. Even back then, at the age of eleven or twelve, she was aware there were rules, boundaries that should never be crossed. 

(The nights of her childhood, filled with endless silence, unwavering peace. No debilitating shame, no crippling self-hatred, just this tiny spark deep in her chest, quiet and unassuming. A well-guarded secret, a carefully hidden truth.

Across the bed, Adora would toss and turn in her sleep, eyebrows knitted together.)

For a long time, it hurt to look at Adora, the mere sight of her like a dagger to the heart, painful and sharp. But she’s watching her now, and there’s a flutter of warmth in her chest, a memory of something she thought she had lost.

\--

It’s the oddest thing.

She sits up in bed, bleary-eyed and foggy-brained, and for a moment, it’s like nothing has ever changed. There’s the sound of Adora’s yawn, muffled by the pillow; the sheets are still warm from her body. But the mornings in Bright Moon are different, too, in more ways than one. Now, they share sleepy kisses before stumbling out of bed, coordinate their outfits to compliment each other. In the corner of the room, curled on a pile of blankets, Melog purrs in his sleep.

This is a familiar sight, too: Adora standing in front of the bathroom sink, eyes fixed on her reflection in the mirror. She’s sweeping her hair up into a high ponytail, a hair tie pinched between her teeth. There’s a crease on her forehead, one eyebrow raised into a perfect arch; it’s a look of concentration, endearing and a little silly, but a look of concentration nonetheless, and very essentially her. 

Catra props a shoulder against the door frame, folds her arms on her chest, and smiles.

\--

They keep going to the gym four, five times a week, as if they’re being pulled there by some unseen force. It’s difficult to break a habit that has been ingrained in them for so many years; they’ve spent their entire lives training and exercising, building up physical strength any way they can. There’s no real reason for them to maintain a strict workout regimen at this point, and even though they don’t exercise as much as they used to, they go to the gym on a regular basis anyway, not out of obligation but because they’re starting to enjoy it. 

So Catra picks up a jump rope and finds her usual spot near the back of the room, away from the floor-to-ceiling mirror. It’s just her and Adora at the gym today, working up a sweat while everyone else is enjoying the sunny weather outside. The place is eerily quiet, even with the occasional clatter of weights and the squeak of Adora’s shoes on the floor. 

Catra likes skipping. There’s something therapeutic about it, the tap-tap-tap of her bare feet against the floor, the sound of the rope whipping through the air. Some days, she lets her mind wander, and other days, she concentrates on breathing, inhaling through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. There’s no need to pay attention to anything else. She falls into the rhythm with practiced ease, and her body knows exactly what to do, how to move.

(It feels good, being in control.)

Adora is lifting weights by the mirror, focused on the serious task of completing a set of shoulder presses. She’s been building muscle lately, especially in her arms, but also in her legs and back. Sometimes, Catra catches a glimpse of her out of the corner of her eye and thinks, _oh, she has transformed again,_ before realization hits her. It’s an odd, but not unwelcome experience. 

(Another reason she likes skipping: it gives her an opportunity to just _look._ )

Adora’s eyes flicker up from the floor, and Catra looks away right before their eyes meet in the mirror. She keeps skipping like nothing happened, composes her features to a look of cool indifference. It’s something she has always been good at, even as a young child. 

When she turns back again, Adora is looking away, too, but there’s a smile on her face, one that makes Catra’s heart flutter in the best possible way.

“Ugh, I’m completely exhausted,” Adora says as they walk into the locker room a little later, the door banging shut behind them. “Did you bring snacks? I feel like I need to eat something.”

“You’re getting old, Adora,” Catra says, a teasing lilt in her tone. Her voice echoes in the empty space, bouncing off the thick concrete walls. “I just did a heavy workout, and I’m perfectly fine.”

Adora snorts. “A heavy workout, huh? I don’t know about that. You seemed kind of, well, distracted.”

(There it is again, that smug smile, easy on her lips.)

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Catra asks.

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Adora says. “You were totally checking me out while I was lifting weights.”

“No, I wasn’t!” Catra’s voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, and she hates it, but she’s also fighting back a smile, the corners of her mouth twitching dangerously.

“Yes, you were!”

Adora swats her on the arm, and Catra responds by jabbing her elbow into Adora’s side, and for a moment, they’re thirteen years old again, shoving each other in the dimly-lit hallways of the Fright Zone, peals of laughter spilling from their lips. Adora pushes Catra by the shoulders, and Catra takes two, three steps back, still giggling, her back slamming against the locker. She reaches out and grabs Adora by the forearm, yanks her closer before she can get away. Adora stumbles forward, laughing, and her free hand lands between Catra’s chest and shoulder. There’s a slight struggle, Adora swaying on her feet and trying to find her balance, and Catra uses the opportunity to put her hands on Adora’s waist, bringing their hips together.

“Come here,” Catra says in a low voice, even though Adora’s body is already pressed against hers, warm and solid and real. Adora’s hands settle on her shoulders, palms still a little clammy from the workout. She smells wonderful, a mix of sweat and salt and something else, a darker scent Catra could recognize anywhere. It’s the same scent that lingers on the sheets of their bed, and on Adora’s clothes, and always did, even back in the Horde. Catra carried the memory of that scent with her for years, even when she didn’t want anything to do with it. Now, it feels like home.

Catra might deny a lot of things, but there is no denying this: she’s staring at Adora now, openly, unabashedly, and her heart is pounding, but the emotion that fills her chest is not what it used to be, not the same violent thing that tormented her in her first few weeks here in Bright Moon. This feeling is warm and powerful and good, a kind of magic on its own, something created only by the two of them.

So Catra looks and looks and looks until Adora leans forward, rests her forehead against hers. They’re still a little out of breath, inhaling and exhaling the same air, their noses bumping together. Adora laughs a little, a lovely sound that makes Catra’s heart sing. 

“Come here,” Catra says again, whispering now, and Adora kisses her, open-mouthed and sweet, her arms sliding around Catra’s neck. Adora tastes like salt, too, and Catra licks it from her lips, swallows her sigh. She’s melting for real now, slumping backwards, pulling Adora closer and closer and closer, until--

\--until Adora breaks off the kiss, and a pair of strong hands grab Catra by the shoulders, pinning her against the locker.

“Spit it out,” Adora says. She’s breathing harder now, but her grip is firm, fingers sinking into Catra’s skin.

Catra feigns an innocent look, but she’s out of practice, the corners of her lips curving into a smirk. “What are you talking about, Adora?”

Adora rolls her eyes and lets go. “Whatever. Next time, I’ll catch you in the act.”

Catra snorts. “Forget it. It’s never going to happen.”

Adora doesn’t say anything, but there’s a smile on her face as she opens her locker and grabs a towel, disappears into the showers. 

Catra turns around and exhales. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling like an idiot. 

\--

At dusk, they walk out of the castle together, hand in hand. The night hums around them like a living thing, alive with magic and beauty, the whole world painted with hues of purple and blue. Nature is in full bloom at last, and the air feels fresh against Catra’s face, cool but not cold. It’s a special kind of bliss, something she’s still not used to, and possibly never will.

They head into the forest, following grass-covered trails and narrow footpaths, whispering to each other as they walk. There’s nobody here, only birds and butterflies and two squirrels scuttling through the trees, but it feels important to keep their voices down, as if talking too loud might break the spell, disrupt the magic. 

(The war was tough for everyone, including this place, the plants and animals in this forest. Catra can’t help but feel at least partially responsible for the damage that was done here, too. She knows it’s not her fault, knows it’s much more complicated than that, but she still wants to say, _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry._ )

Another mile of meandering trails and low-hanging branches, and the trees give way to rolling hillsides and flower-adorned meadows. Adora pulls Catra off the trail and flops down on the ground, puts her hands behind her head. Catra lies down next to her, close enough to touch. The cool grass tickles her arms, and the air is heavy with the scent of flowers, sweet and intoxicating. 

Stargazing is one of the many things they never really got to do as children. Catra thinks her younger self would have enjoyed it, looking at the stars; it would have soothed her, provided her with a welcome distraction from the abuse she was forced to endure. She likes looking at the stars now, and she especially likes the many moons of Etheria. They come in all sizes and colors, some small and translucent like delicate pearls, others bigger and more robust. If she reaches out her hand, she can almost, almost imagine touching them.

“So,” Adora says. “Where to tonight?”

Catra narrows her eyes, peering up into the sky. She points to a small, bright planet right above their heads, tracing the outline with a claw. “That one. Right next to the big blue moon.” 

“The emerald-colored one?”

“Yeah. It looks nice. Lush and green, like Etheria. It would be different, but not too different from what we’re used to.”

“Lots of exotic plants, I bet.”

Catra hums in agreement. “We could bring some of them back home with us.”

Adora glances at her, a small smile playing on her lips. “I didn’t know you had an interest in gardening.”

“I don’t,” Catra says. “I just think it would be interesting to see how they’d respond to different environments. That’s all.”

Adora turns her head, looks back to the sky. 

“I’d like that, too,” she says, voice soft. “We could use magic to help them flourish, in case something goes wrong.”

“Look who’s all excited now,” Catra says, and Adora laughs, a melody to Catra’s ears. 

The conversation dwindles to a comfortable silence, one that doesn’t need to be filled. Maybe the walk tired them out, after all. Catra doesn’t want to sleep yet, but her eyelids are starting to feel heavy, threatening to close. She blinks and blinks and blinks, fills her lungs with fresh air. 

Adora rolls onto her side, props herself up on one elbow. And then, she just looks. She stares down at Catra, taking her in like she’s seeing her for the very first time, eyes filled with so much affection that Catra has to turn her head away. 

(She can’t help it. No matter how many times she repeats the mantra in her head, she’s still struggling to accept the idea that she deserves love, and kindness, and happiness. She’s working on it, and she’s getting better at it, little by little, but she’s still not completely used to -- _this_ , being the object of such unwavering tenderness.) 

So she does the only thing she can think of and pushes Adora’s cheek with her hand, a half-hearted attempt to make her stop. 

“Why are you staring?” she says, and even her voice is betraying her, the words nothing more than a reluctant mumble.

“No reason,” Adora says, voice gentle but clear. She catches Catra’s hand in her own and brings it to her lips, the touch feather-light, barely there. It’s ridiculously, unabashedly, sickeningly romantic; Catra thrills to it.

It’s only starting to dawn on her now that maybe, just maybe, Adora has been dealing with the same thing as she has, that maybe there was a time in her life when the mere sight of Catra caused her pain, too. It’s hard to believe this now; this is not the look of someone who is hurting, someone who is weak and vulnerable. This is the look of someone who is at peace with themselves, someone who is comfortable with how they feel. There are wounds that are still healing, but they’ve come so far in only a few short months, and there’s time, and a brand new future, better than anything they could have ever imagined. 

And that’s the beauty of their current lives -- current, post-war, post-Horde lives. Back then, everything was predetermined. Now, they have the power to shape their own future, to make time for what they care about, to find the happiness that was never theirs. 

So Catra laces her fingers through Adora’s and lets her look.


End file.
